The Three Temptations
by ms hearse
Summary: Hermione projects her needs onto Professor Snape, who is more than willing to accommodate for them. Warning: involves self-harm.
1. Awakening

_Author's note: This story is very intense, and includes adult subject matter such as self-harm. Please proceed with caution. I want it noted that I am in no way endorsing the act of self-harm, and if you find yourself involved, please seek out help. _

_This story is based loosely on the three temptations of Christ mentioned in the Bible, which will explain some of the title names. It is a plotline that I have been wanting to work with for awhile now, but have only just managed to do so. Please enjoy. _

_Chapter 1: Awakening_

The dungeon rested somewhere between childhood and self-realisation. I had not yet known the spectrum of true emotion until the grip of his madness began to take a hold of me. He had been starved for a light to descend in his favor, but was strewn a heavier burden instead; and proved, most unfortunately, that his cross was too hard to bear.

I was but a child: fiery, smitten, and untouched by life. My greatest fear was not demise, but my newly arisen sexuality and its ever straining reality, pushing me into an uneasy debate between logic and lust.

I took a breath, releasing it slowly into the empty pockets of air around me. Professor Snape was late, which was not a tentative position he often took, and it weighed on my mind. Looking about, it seemed that most of the students were elated to have the extra hour to talk, including Harry and Ron, but I had nothing to offer and kept to myself.

The only light that graced us in the cold dungeons came from the dimming sun, which cascaded through the ceiling-high windows in an unceremonious fashion. The walls were washed pale in gloom: beige from stone and gray from soot. It was probably the first time I had really seen the chamber with a critical eye.

It made me feel small.

The door opened in a fury: Professor Snape immerged from the shadows of his hidden world, robes whipping lightly behind him as he led himself to the front of the room.

"We will not brew today," he muttered before reaching his desk. "Take out parchment and quills; no books allowed. I want an essay turned in to me by the end of class on all the different types of boils a wrongly concocted potion can make."

"He's in a cheerful mood today," whispered Ron.

"And I want complete silence!" Snape bellowed. "Mr Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Thanks Ron," snapped Harry.

"Would you two shut up?" I squeaked, eager to start my essay.

"Miss Granger, another ten points from Gryffindor."

Giving Harry a distasteful glare, I straightened up in my chair, determined to ignore any distractions. But all I could think about was Snape. He had been spending more and more time, both in and out of class, watching me. I found myself needing to know at all times if I was being watched. At first it was flattering, but it had become something more, something I didn't yet understand.

I looked up at him then and watched him until he turned to meet my gaze; he had the air of an impatient man, his eyes breaking my skin with their sharpness. I tried to focus on the essay, but his gaze distracted me.

I used all my strength to look away, down to the parchment, the ink, the letters I drew so forcefully in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering. I could feel his eyes still locked on me, making me sweat nervously; tiny droplets falling to my page in slow motion.

Ron nudged me under the table, a quizzical look on his brow. I shook my head and glanced back up at Snape. He was focused wholeheartedly on the stack of parchments before him. I released the tension in my shoulders, feeling the burden of his stare lifted.

I finished the essay just short of the end of class, bolting from my chair in a great hurry. Harry grabbed my arm in the hallway as he and Ron tried to keep up.

"Late for something?"

"No, sorry," I said. "Just wanting some fresh air."

"That was brutal," said Ron.

Harry nodded vigorously.

"What do ya say we play a bit of Quidditch before bed?" asked Ron.

"You're not serious?" I asked. "It's nearly dark. You won't be able to see the snitch."

"Nonsense," said Ron smugly. "We've got Harry!"

"I'll round up some more players!" Harry yelped in excitement before darting off down the hall.

"Come watch?" Ron asked; an innocent gleam in his eye.

I gave him a questioning glare.

"You said you wanted fresh air."

I shrugged, defeated, and followed him out to the courtyard.

I watched for awhile: their brooms swishing, swooshing, and swaying about in the night air. I even illuminated sections of the courtyard as it was needed. But as the night air grew thick and stale, I pondered on a much more carnal game.

I could still feel his gaze. It pushed through the distance between us, ready to devour me. I was elated. The churning of my stomach was unlike any illness I had ever encountered; its effects flowing sharply down my sides.

I closed my eyes and, gulping loudly, tried to calm the ready storm inside. I could almost sense him near me: the robes whipping in the wind of his flight, the hair as black as midnight, and the sneer as cold as ice. Never before had a professor had so much effect on me. I worried that I was losing control.

"You too, Miss Granger."

A hand landed hard on my shoulder then, and I jumped up in alarm.

The small Quidditch game had ended and the players were leaving the field, sulking as they went. Harry stood near, partially turned my way, as if in waiting.

"Come on now, to bed with you," said the voice again.

I looked up into Professor McGonagall's face; her arms folded and eyebrows dipping deep into her nose. It seemed we had stayed longer than strictly allowed. I hurried after Harry and followed him to the common room, away from the chilly night air.


	2. Lust

_Chapter 2: Lust_

My dreams that night took on new levels of infliction.

It started with voices. No matter how hard I squinted my eyes in search of light, there was only perpetual darkness. The voices spoke a language that my ears did not understand, but my body did. It felt warm and heavy.

Then a light flashed on, and I realised it was not the darkness of night that had plagued me, but the black cloth of a robe strewn over my head. There was a man before me. I did not know who it was, for he stood in the shadows. The light was swinging back and forth, blinding me one moment and leaving me alone the next. _But him._ He stood just under the light, yet somehow still amongst the darkness.

I knew it was him. I could feel his words sting, even as he stood in silence. I reached out, but my arm passed straight through him. There was a laugh from somewhere out of sight. And then he was over me and on me and through me; and I felt the pain of being ripped open from the inside out.

I woke up sweaty, on the verge of screaming, and nestled myself in under the covers for protection. I knew it was him. I just knew it.

"Leave me alone, Snape," I whispered, knowing he would not hear me, but hoping he would nonetheless.

I looked at the time. It was too early for breakfast, but just late enough to not be rude.

Jumping out of bed, I rummaged through my belongings and pulled out the necessities: school uniform, bra, mascara, and deodorant. I hurried through my morning routine, hoping to beat the rush to breakfast.

Jog-walking through the hallway, taking a few wrong turns along the way, I somehow found myself standing before an elaborately designed door in the dungeons. Although I had occasionally had to bother McGonagall in her personal quarters for various school-related issues, I had never seen the necessity in disturbing Professor Snape. Being a female student at the door of a male professor, I felt a sting of guilt and indecency.

But some things simply weren't appropriate for class time.

I rose my arm to knock, but the door swung open before I did. Snape's face contorted into a look of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Sorry to bother you," I heard myself whisper. "I just need to speak with you."

His expression did not change.

"Sir," I added.

"I haven't finished marking the essays, Miss Granger," he said.

"No," I said, "that's not my concern."

"Do you understand how incredibly inappropriate it is to call upon a teacher at his personal chambers?"

"McGonagall lets me do it all the time."

"McGonagall," he said, "will be called out on it."

"Please, sir," I begged, placing my hand out onto the edge of the door so that he could not close it.

Snape looked at my hand and back at me, moving his eyes to and fro until I removed the hand from his space.

We stood, quietly, until I realised he was not about to let me in.

"I know you've always kept an extra eye out for me," I said, ignoring his expression of denial, "but lately I feel like I'm _all_ you watch."

I lowered my head, finding myself unable to look at him.

"And you came to my _personal_ chambers to tell me I'm getting too…_personal_?" he asked.

I cleared my throat.

"It's making me uncomfortable."

I looked at him then. His face exuberated disinterest, but his eyes were emblazoned with hunger. I hardened my own face and leaned into him, closing the space between us, trying to intimidate him as best I could with what little I had. He stayed put, but tensed up as I came closer.

"Why don't you just go to Dumbledore?" he asked.

Something inside me jumped as though he had hit an unexpected key.

"My issue isn't with the Headmaster," I said.

"Or perhaps," he said disdainfully, "you like the attention."

My eyes widened in alarm: not so much because of what he was insinuating, but because he was right. He leaned in the rest of the way between us and kissed me. It was a bold move, but one that I accepted wholeheartedly.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist. Our bodies stayed motionless, but our lips were vigorous in their rush. It felt as though I had been taken over, my will shoved far in the back recesses of my mind. Snape pulled me inside his chambers, away from prying eyes.

It wasn't at all romantic. There was nothing but a physical need involved, and it overwhelmed any reason or intellect. I didn't know what I was doing; I fumbled with the buttons that lined his shirt, hoping I wasn't making a _complete_ fool of myself. I pulled off the shirt and made to unbutton my own when something caught my eye.

I pushed away from him then, uncertain how to proceed.

"Your arms," I said at last.

His expression hardened.

"I know those markings," I said, almost in tears.

Snape jumped back from me suddenly, anger flaring in his eyes.

"You know nothing," he said bitterly.

He snatched his shirt from the floor and dressed quickly.

"Please," I said, grabbing a hold of him, trying to pull him near. He pushed me back; my body hit hard against the floor beneath me.

"Get out," he said.

I stayed.

But Snape was not in the mood for games. He picked me up by my shoulder blade, nails digging into my skin, and threw me out into the hall.

"You have an answer for everything, yet _know nothing_," he said.

With that, he slammed the door, leaving me to crimple over and cry. Alone.


	3. Diversions

_Chapter 3: Diversions_

Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it wasn't even affection. Hormones had hit me at an accelerated rate, leaving me incapable of thinking clearly or acting rationally.

It didn't occur to me until later that day that I had almost given myself to the slimmest, strangest man of Hogwarts. I was partly pleased that it did not progress to anything more, anything embarrassing. I wasn't certain I could face my friends, let alone society in general, if he had seen me naked.

But it wasn't that part of me I worried about. It was the other part: the one that cried in the hall outside his door until the tears dried and stuck to my cheeks. It was the part of me that seemed incapable of giving myself to anyone else _because_ he creeped me out and haunted my dreams, as though he would be my only chance to experience such thrill.

I had to make him understand that I would be dedicated to him. He had to know that I cared.

Potions class was excruciating to bear; Snape made an elaborate attempt _not_ to look at me as if punishing me for knowing his secret. I tried not to let it offend me, but instead kept direct eye contact on him to show my intent. I could tell my behavior was unnerving to my friends. Ron would nudge me occasionally in concernment, followed with a "bloody hell" when I would not answer.

"What's wrong with her?" I could hear him ask Harry, who probably shrugged in response.

I knew there would be hurt feelings and a lot of sulking by the end of class, but my priority remained with Snape.

"Want to watch us play Quidditch tonight?" Harry asked tentatively when class was finally dismissed.

"No," I said.

"Is there something…"

"No," I said. "I'll see you later."

Harry looked me straight in the eye, trying to read between the lines.

"I'm fine," I said, smiling. "I just have to ask Snape something."

Ron began to object, but Harry, though still unsatisfied that nothing sinister was about to happen, pushed him in the direction of the door.

"She can take care of herself," he said.

Ron wasn't happy about it, but followed his lead nonetheless, looking back at me before leaving with a frown carved deep on his face.

I took a breath and turned to Snape, who waited patiently for me to approach.

"Ignoring me isn't going to make me go away," I said lightly, trying not to upset him with my effrontery.

"And apparently neither will looking at you," he said with an air of boredom.

I took in a breath and held it for a moment, not sure what to do next. Snape leaned back against his desk.

"Why do you cut yourself?" I asked.

"Yes, that's what I thought this was about," he said.

We stood there in silence, staring at each other, each waiting for the other to speak.

"I want to help," I said at last.

"Just this morning you wanted nothing to do with me," he said. "That is, before you attacked me. Now you want to heal me?"

"I didn't attack you!" I spat.

"Which is why you were all over me?"

"You kissed me!"

"Yes," he said, "just before you attacked me."

I threw my arms up in exasperation.

"You're impossible," I said.

"And you're trying your luck," he said. "Be glad I haven't already kicked you out for speaking to me in such a familiar manner."

"You…" I started, but stopped when I noticed his face; although still stern, there was a spark of humour present.

"You're just messing with me," I said, ticked.

"You _are_ exceptionally entertaining when mad," he said, letting a slight smile show on his lips.

"I just want to…" I said, searching for the right word, "hit you!"

"Is that how you plan to heal me?" he asked.

"I, I, I don't know," I said, defeated, and laughed.

Snape raised his eyebrows questioningly.

I smiled up at him then. This must have been the real Snape; the man who hid behind the mask of coldness to gain respect. He still lashed out in sarcasm, but in a much more relaxed, acceptable sort of way. It made me feel comfortable: comfortable enough to laugh, comfortable enough to harass him back.

"Why are you being so nice?" I asked.

"Would you like me to stop?"

"No," I laughed. "I just don't understand."

"And you'll continue not to understand because I have a meeting I must attend to," he said, glancing out the window.

"Dumbledore?" I asked.

He looked me in the eyes. I nodded, knowing better than to ask further.

He pushed himself away from the desk and kissed me softly on the lips.

"I hope we can continue this conversation later," he said.

I could feel myself shake, and nodded again, this time vigorously.

I made my way to the girls' dormitory, feeling an endless supply of shivers crawl up my back. I didn't have the words to describe just what had happened. It was creepy, and sudden, and glorious. I sat on the edge of my bed and replayed the evening through my head over and over again until bedtime.

I was dating a professor. It was as simple as that. I was old enough, smart enough, and just hormonal enough for it to work.

What wasn't going to work, however, was my criticism. I needed to fully understand him in order to date him.

I stayed up all night trying to talk myself out of it.

I knew the risks. I knew, more importantly, the permanency of those risks. But something inside me needed answers.

It was that same nagging feeling that haunted me from birth: the drive that took me to every book, every answer, every fact. It was just something I had to do. If he dealt with his pain through pain, then so would I.

Before the sun dared peak in the sky, and the girls' dormitory was filled with shuffling feet, I arose with a pounding in my ears. I made my way to the bathroom where I dug out a spare disposable razor from my toiletry bag. The plastic covering was thick, so instead of trying to break it myself, I aimed my wand at a corner and zapped it open. The plastic shattered on the counter, and the blade clattered to the floor.

I sunk down to my knees and stared at the blade. I thought of the marks on Snape's arms.

Perhaps it was just my innocence: the adolescent inexperience that rears its head just before a stupid decision is made. Perhaps it was only a manifestation of my longing to be more than just the "plain girl," the "know-it-all." Whatever it was, it outweighed the voice inside my mind that screamed for me to stop.

I picked up the blade and turned it around in my hand. A glimpse of light caught in the metal and twinkled at me as though it was winking.

It was relatively simple and clean. The deeper I went, the more symbolic the blood became. I didn't like the pain, which was on the minimal side due to the sharpness of the blade, but the more I did it, the more I wanted it.

It wasn't about Snape anymore. It was my own release. I pushed the boundaries of all that I had been taught to dread. I pushed until my sanity screamed out from behind the madness and, dropping the blade, I grabbed at my wrists, trying to keep the blood in. But I had gone too far.

I tried to stand and call for help, but slipped on the pools beneath me and hit my head hard against the wall. I could feel myself sliding back into my mind, the images before me darkening. I stared at the ceiling in my last glimpse of life, praying that I hadn't been stupid enough to lock the door.


	4. Pride

_Chapter 4: Pride_

With a sudden breath of air, as though being forced from a deep sleep, I was aware of my surroundings: the eccentric ceiling, the soft sheets, and the achy pain in my head. I looked around at the infirmary, feeling grateful that someone had found me alive.

I inspected my wrists: they had been magickally healed, showing no visible signs of damage. I rubbed them. It was hard to believe that I had done such a thing, with my skin as unscathed as it was then.

"Ah, you're awake," said Madam Pomfrey as she entered the scope of my viewpoint. "Gave us quite a scare, you did."

"I'm sorry," I said.

She stood over me, looking at me with eyes of concern.

"Who found me?" I asked.

"Miss Weasley."

I shook my head. If Ginny knew, then it meant that so did Ron and Harry. I wasn't certain I could handle them knowing just yet, if at all.

Madam Pomfrey took a seat on the bed next to mine.

"How are classes going?" she asked.

"Okay," I said.

"It's normal to feel a little stressed, there's a lot to learn."

"I'm not stressed," I said, seeing where the conversation was heading, and not liking it.

"Relationship troubles, then?"

"No."

"I'm just trying to help, my dear," she said.

"I'm fine, really."

"I was your age once," she said. "If you need anyone to talk to, I'll always be here, as will any of your professors."

"I know," I said, turning my attention back to the ceiling.

"Well," she sighed, "in that case, there are a few friends waiting to see you."

I kept very still until the familiar faces looked down at me, each too embarrassed to say anything first.

"I didn't try to kill myself," I said, determined to get it over with.

"That's not what it looked like," said Ginny.

"They're still cleaning up the blood trail from the bathroom to here," said Harry.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," I said, feeling the guilt pile up.

"You've been acting really funny lately," Ron added.

"I don't even think I know you anymore," said Harry.

"I mean," said Ron, "you could have been sleepwalking for all we know. You don't tell us things anymore."

"And I'm sorry," I moaned. "It was just an experiment. I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"What kind of experiment?" asked Ron. "How far you had to cut _to kill_ yourself?"

"Ron!" I barked.

"He has a point," said Ginny.

I rubbed my eyes. There was no real way of explaining it. They would never understand the relationship that was developing between Snape and me; that I needed, no matter how irrational, to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that he wasn't crazy.

"Well, see," I started, "Snape…I mean, um…"

"Snape?" snapped Harry. "I thought it might have something to do with him."

"Snape?" repeated Ron, shocked.

"He's not good for you, Hermione," said Harry.

"What is this?" I said. "I'm a big girl, remember?"

"We're just trying to help," said Ginny.

I suppose it was a sweet gesture. I suppose if I had not been injected with a certain amount of madness from Snape's attention, I would have embraced their worry as a sign of true friendship. But I didn't. Instead, I was struck with guilt, for I had confronted Snape with the same proposition of help, the same idea that his way was no way to live. So as I lay there on that bed hearing those words, that promise of change, I started to wonder if they really were my friends.

And with the same amount of bitterness that Snape had used with me, I snapped, "You know nothing!"

I bolted out of bed, despite the pounding headache, and marched passed them out the infirmary. I could hear Madam Pomfrey call after me, that I was not yet ready to leave, but I ignored her. There was only one person who knew what I was ready for, and that was _me_.


	5. False Gods

_Chapter 5: False Gods_

I headed straight to Snape's office. I had tried to attend class, but with Harry and Ron looming over my every movement in concern and the rest of class eyeing me awkwardly as "the girl who tried to kill herself," I decided it wasn't worth doing until the topic could be put to rest. I didn't know if Snape would be in his office, but figured it was worth a try since he spent most of his time there to avoid students. I walked right in and planted myself on his desk, my legs crossed.

I didn't say anything, just watched him as he watched me. His face was paler than normal, and his expression was vague.

"I heard about your little stunt," he said.

"I'm sure you have," I said.

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

"No," I said. "Sorry for bothering you. I just need to get away from everyone."

"I've decided to leave Hogwarts," he said.

"Because of me?" I asked, mortified that I might have driven him to leave.

He smiled a little: a sad smile that brought back some emotion into his face.

"No," he said.

"Harry and Ron don't want us together anymore," I said.

"We were together?"

"I mean, they don't want me to spend time with you. And yes," I said, "I'd like to think something is starting here."

He didn't react.

"I'm tired of living a double life," he said.

"Are you tired of me?"

He stayed quiet. It made me nervous.

"I'm tired of being something I'm not," he said.

"And what are you?" I inquired.

"Complicated."

He shifted a bit in his seat.

"Maybe we_ shouldn't_ be together," he said.

"Are you trying to turn me against you?" I questioned firmly.

"Just trying to make you see straight."

"I don't already?"

"It's time I accept my fate," he said. "I chose my path a long time ago."

"Honorable."

"Is it?" he asked.

I knew what he was trying to say. He couldn't leave Voldemort, not without losing his life. He was in far too deep.

"Well," I said, "it's honorable to be so loyal."

"Even when your loyalty is to the devil?"

I pulled out a razorblade from my book bag; the very razor that had caused so much trouble, that had put me in the infirmary. Turning on the desk, I scooted to his side, my legs brushing up against his arm. Severus didn't appear to be shocked, but watched carefully as I rolled up the sleeve of my left arm.

"This is how much I trust you," I said. "If you feel that Voldemort deserves your loyalty…"

I shook a bit as I turned my arm wrist up, preparing for the pain, but proceeded nonetheless to slice into my skin. I didn't cut deeply, but it burned with every twist of the razor, causing my eyes to tear up and my bottom lip to quiver.

Severus watched patiently; his breathing slow and silent.

When I had finished, I used my shirt to wipe aside the excess blood. I looked at Severus, his eyes glued to my arm, to the crude depiction of the Dark Mark.

"…then I guess I do too," I finished saying.

I waited then for a reaction. He continued to look at the carving on my arm, even after it disappeared beneath the ever growing puddle of blood.

"I don't want to bring you down with me," he said at last.

"Baby, I'm in as far as it goes," I whispered.

He sneered.

"You haven't even scratched the surface," he said.

I kissed him then. It was light and innocent at first, but soon turned into something more, something with meaning. He seized me in response, throwing me to the nearest wall, our lips intertwining in desperation. The kiss was not from passion, but from guilt; our bodies heaving in want. He knew I couldn't really follow him that far down, and I knew there wasn't really any hope for him to change.

We stayed interlocked, sharing each other's anguish, until the hunger became too much to bear. Severus pushed away from me, scared to further the bond; my blood smeared on his hands and clothes, and my taste on his tongue.

I couldn't think straight. My body was speaking a language I didn't understand, but longed to know.

Severus stood only inches from me, breathing rapidly, but would not look me in the eye as if ashamed. He picked up my razor and held it captive in his hand; bubbles of blood leaking out between his fingers as he squeezed it.

"I won't desecrate you, Hermione," he said.

"It isn't desecration if you love me," I whispered.

He shook his head.

"I _don't _love you," he said. "If I did, I wouldn't hurt you like I do."

"I think you're lying."

"Maybe it isn't as simple as you want it to be," he said. "Maybe monsters really do exist."

"You're not a monster."

"Leave me before I lose control of myself."

"No," I said.

"Fair warning is the only decent thing I can offer."

"No," I said again, only fainter.

He looked up at me then, his eyes ablaze with what could only be described as angry lust.

"I'll tear you apart," he whispered.

I closed my eyes in fright. I felt him step closer and press himself against me, his hands taking hold of my wrists and confining them to the wall. I felt the razor in his palm as it pushed through my skin, uniting our blood as though we were one.

"Do you believe in monsters now?" he said softly as he leaned in to my ear.

Keeping my eyes closed, I shook my head.

"No?" he asked. "You will."

I prepared myself for some form of pain, externally or worse, but it never came. Instead, he pulled me off the wall and shoved me toward the door, away from him.

"Just not now," he said. "Leave."

I did. I didn't want to, but I did. I walked out of the room and out of his life, stopping just after the first corner once the tears had started. I sunk down to the floor and let the tears overwhelm me.

I cried not for me, but for him: for the utter waste of life. I cried until a familiar face met me eye to eye.

"'Mione?"

"Oh Harry," I said, embracing him.

"You okay? What happened?"

"Forgive me," I said. "I was foolish."

Harry clutched me tighter.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

As I stood, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, keeping me close.

But I couldn't leave.

Something inside me snapped like a twig underfoot. It was almost immediate, as if I instinctually knew that something was wrong. It felt as if my heart had stopped beating, though it thumped harder than ever before.

I ran back to Snape. I knew he needed me; I could hear him call to me in the silence. Harry trailed behind, not quite sure what else to do.

I burst through Snape's door and stopped just short of the entryway.

It is said that innocence is lost with the familiarity of darkness; that once the horrors of the world are expressed, the innocence can no longer be maintained. It is in this moment when the split occurs between childish fancies and all that lay beyond. Preparation time for such a transition into sexual awakening, abuse, or death is rarely obtained, and the result is a rude developmental stimulate for the cruel and ugly history of mankind.

What I saw as I entered the office then was the blinding of my own innocence. My heart ceased its beating; the pattern of life had taken a curve I had not fully foreseen. There was a rope magickally strung from the ceiling, wrapped firmly to itself in a bold and tantalising knot. My breath became dew and dripped from my lips, forming a gate-like structure of icicles over my mouth, keeping me as silent as death.

His shadow, cast from the torches of the walls, spoke eerily of what I faced but would not see. He stole away my childhood and my heart, and left a cold, frigid girl. Collapsing to the equally frigid ground, I left all sense of self and let the tears of failure fall.

I didn't want to be there: alive and breathing in a space where only death resided. I reached out for Harry, who not only held my outstretched hand, but bent down to weep with me.

It was in that moment that I first felt what _true_ friendship was.

"Take me away," I said.

He nodded.

As we walked from the office doors, side by side, I leaned in to Harry's support. He smiled, despite himself.


End file.
